of no great naval interest except for the side issues involved. In
a series of actions, the American big gun theory was triumphantly
demonstrated, and more than once small British squadrons were wiped
out. No material result, however, followed in consequence. On the other
hand, Washington was attacked in 1814, and the public buildings burned,
again without much material result. The real interest of the war lies
in side issues.
The submarine appeared in this war, but the American authorities
refused to give it any official sanction, and attempts made against
British ships were by private individuals who had ignored the express
orders of the American authorities. None of the experimenters were
successful, but this was mainly a matter of luck.
A matter of greater interest was the construction of an American war
vessel, the _Fulton_. The _Fulton_--which was driven by a steam paddle
in the centre of the vessel, and was armoured with wood so thick that
none of the shot of the period could get through it, was armed with
two 100-pounder guns on pivot mountings and carried a ram shaped
bow--can undeniably lay claim to being the precursor of the _Monitor_
or _Merrimac_, and also to being the first steam warship. She took too
long to complete, however, to take any part in the war; but had
the war continued, few British ships could have survived her attacks,
presuming her to have been seaworthy.
[Illustration: THE END OF AN OLD WARSHIP.]
To resume: 1813 as regards the French was not productive of much in the
way of naval operations. The French had by now built so many new ships
at Toulon that they were actually superior to the blockading British
squadron. But they made no attempt to use this superiority, and nothing
resulted except a few small skirmishes. A few insignificant captures
were made on the British side.
At the beginning of the year 1814, there were ninety-nine ships of the
line in commission and 495 lesser vessels. The _personnel_ amounted to
140,000, and the estimates £19,312,000.
A number of single ship actions took place between frigates, and in
most of these a considerable improvement in French efficiency was
noted. Nothing, however, was done with the larger ships, and the war
ultimately ended with the deportation of Napoleon to Elba.
No sooner was peace declared than the fleet was greatly reduced and a
large number of ships sold or broken up. Nineteen ships of the line
and ninety-three other vessels were thus disposed of. The _personnel_
for the year 1815 was reduced to 70,000 for the first three months
and 90,000 for the remainder of the year. The estimates stood at
£17,032,700, of which £2,000,000 was for the payment of debts.
The re-appearance of Napoleon and the events which culminated in the
battle of Waterloo did not lead to any naval operations, and with the
final deportation of Napoleon to St. Helena, a further reduction of the
fleet took place. The estimates sank to £10,114,345, and considerable
reductions of officers and men were made.
VIII.
GENERAL MATTERS IN THE PERIOD OF THE FRENCH WARS.
Naval uniform, as we understand it, first came into use for officers
in the days of George II,[63] who so admired a blue and white costume
of the Duchess of Bedford that he decided then and there to dress his
naval officers in similar fashion. No very precise regulations were,
however, followed, and for many years uniform was more or less optional
or at the fancy of the captain.
The first uniform consisted of a blue coat, with white cuffs and gold
buttons. The waistcoat, breeches, and stockings were white. The hat
was the ordinary three-cornered black hat of the period with some gold
lace about it and a cockade. Other officers wore uniforms which were
slight variants upon this: while as special distinguishing marks only
the captain (if over three years’ seniority) wore epaulettes upon both
shoulders. A lieutenant wore one only.
From time to time the uniform was altered slightly, mostly as regards
the cuffs and lapels; but enormous latitude was allowed, and some
officers even dressed as seamen.
There was no general uniform whatever for the men; though circumstances
led to the bulk of the men in any one ship being dressed more or less
alike.
This was the result of the “slop chest.” This was introduced about the
year 1650, and amounted to nothing more than a species of ready-made
tailor ship at which men at their own expense could obtain articles of
clothing. Later on it became compulsory for newly-joined men, whose
clothes were defective, to purchase clothing on joining, to the tune of
two months’ pay.
These articles being supplied to a ship wholesale, were naturally all
alike, and so the men of one ship would all be more or less uniformly
attired. Men of another ship might be dressed quite differently,
though also more or less like each other. But any idea of uniform as
“uniform,” right up to Trafalgar, was entirely confined to one or
two dandy captains, and they mainly only considered their own boat’s
crews.[64] Some fearful and wonderful costumes of this kind are
recorded.
Uniform wearing of the “slop chest” variety was, however, always
regarded as the badge of the pressed man and jail bird. The “prime
seaman” who joined decently clad was allowed to wear his own clothes,
and these were decided by fashion. There were dudes in the Navy in
those days, and contemporary art records a good deal of variety. In our
own day, when exactitude is at a premium, it has erred badly enough
to depict bluejackets with moustachios.[65] In the old days it was
probably even more careless still. Consequently everything as to the
costume of men in the Nelson era required to be accepted with caution.
It is, however, clear from the more reliable literary and descriptive
sources that the dandy sailor existed very freely. The “prime seaman”
loved to hall-mark himself by his costume.
On board ship in dirty weather he wore anything and his best when
coming up for punishment.[66] In a general way fashion always worked
from the officers’ uniform, with fancy additions. A natty blue jacket
was the essential feature, with as many brass buttons as the owner
could afford. A red or yellow waistcoat seems to have been _a la mode_.
Trousers, preferably of white duck, but sometimes of blue, were also
“the fancy.” Sometimes these were striped. In all cases they were
ample, free, and flowing, as they are at the present day. Convenience
of tucking up on wet decks is the usual explanation; but there is good
reason to believe that idle fashion of the Nelson days had just as much
or more to do with the modern bluejacket’s trousers.
The quaint little top hat of the midshipman was generally worn by the
Lower Deck dandy. A pig tail was also a _sine qua non_ during the
period of the Second Great War.
The origin of the pigtail is wrapped in some mystery. It has been
variously ascribed to copying the French Navy[67] and to imitating the
Marines, who wore wonderfully greased pigtails at this period.
To complete the rig the seamen used to decorate themselves with
coloured ribbons let into their clothes. They lived a hard life, and
much has been written upon the subject. But the evidence generally
tends to prove that the “prime seaman” as a rule had a far better time
than those who (failing to recognise that conditions have altered
to-day) appear to realise.[68] The lack of liberty, entailed by the
presence of so many men who would assuredly desert on half a chance,
was so general and so long-standing that it is doubtful whether it was
felt to any really great extent. Customs cover most things.
To our modern ideas the punishments afloat were horribly brutal;
but here again it is necessary to remember the difference in era.
Floggings and kindred punishments were plentiful enough ashore; and
there is a good deal of evidence to indicate that they were taken as
“all in the day’s work afloat.” The victim was usually “doped” by his
messmates, who saved up part of their rum tots for the purpose, and
the horrors of the cat have undoubtedly been somewhat exaggerated. It
was undeniably brutal and cruel; but, to select a homely simile, so
were dental methods a few years ago. Our fathers submitted to things in
this direction which none of us would, or, for that matter, could stand
nowadays. The bulk of contemporary evidence is that the (to our eyes)
brutal punishments of the Navy of a hundred odd years ago were never
regarded as serious grievances by those who stood to undergo them.
The actual grievances revolved entirely around the administration of
undeserved punishments. A certain number of captains misused their
powers and prerogatives, but only a small percentage did so. At no time
does the average captain appear to have been a brutal bully. This is,
however, to be qualified by the midshipmen, of whom a certain number
deliberately bullied men into doing things for which they got brutally
punished afterwards. But outside this the conditions were by no means
so horrible as generally depicted. The real sufferers were the pressed
landsmen, who certainly learned to be seamen in a very hard school.
It is necessary, however, even here to remember the times and the
conditions. This view is borne out by the Great Mutiny. The mutineers,
even at the Nore, never demanded the abolition of the cat. When trouble
was connected with it in any way, it was over its unreasonable use,
as, for instance, in the insensate flogging of the last two men off
the rigging, which led to the Mutiny in the _Hermione_. This--which
entailed punishing the smartest men since these had furthest to
go--goaded the “prime seamen” to desperation and sympathy with the
landsmen element afloat, which was ever in a semi-mutinous condition.
It is impossible to hold that Captain Pigot of the _Hermione_ did not
deserve his fate. But Pigots were comparatively rare, and captains
like Nelson by no means scarce. Nelson had no hesitation in flogging
men, but he flogged justly, and no troubles ever occurred in any ship
commanded by him. For that matter it was characteristic of the time
that a captain might be a Tartar, and yet be quite popular with his
crew so long as he was just. The “prime seamen” who formed the nucleus
of the ship’s company realised the necessity of severe measures and
strict discipline in order to tame the human ullage which made up the
rest of the crew.
In this connection it is interesting to note that towards the end
of the period there began to creep in the commencement of a later
classification of ratings not liable to corporal punishment.
Had life afloat in the days of the Great War been quite as terrible as
it is often depicted as having been, the volunteer element of trained
seamen could hardly have existed, nor could the glamour of the sea have
brought so many raw volunteers as it did. When a ship was commissioned,
the first step was advertising for men. The advertisements were
specious and alluring enough; but the captain’s character generally had
most influence on the response; and all the essential seamen element,
unless they had spent all their money, were pretty wary as to who they
shipped with.
To be sure it did not take the seaman long to lose his money. On a ship
paying off he received a considerable accumulated sum, and every kind
of shark and harpy was on the lookout to relieve him of it. He got
gloriously drunk and so remained while the money lasted, and in this
condition the press-gang often got him.
The press-gang was a legalised form of naval conscription. In theory
any seafaring man who could be laid hands on might be taken; in
practice all was fish that came to the press-gang’s net.
The press-gang, armed with cudgels and cutlasses, used to operate at
night, generally in the naval towns,[69] but at times also further
afield. It laid hands upon all and sundry, hitting them over the head
if they resisted.
A cargo secured, the men were taken on board and kept between decks
under an armed guard pending examination by the captain and surgeon.
Certain people, such as apprentices or some merchant seamen, were
exempt and had to be liberated. Badly diseased men were also let loose
again. Verminous and dirty folk were scrubbed with a brutality which
created subsequent cleanly habits. Their clothes were either fumigated
or else thrown away altogether, and fresh clothing supplied from the
“slop chest” at so much off their pay.
If within a fortnight the pressed man cared to call himself a volunteer
he received a bounty; but, whether he volunteered[70] or not, once
aboard the ship there he remained till death or the paying off of the
ship years later. It was this confinement to the ship which led to so
much agitation, and was made one of the principal grievances of the
mutineers at Spithead.
On the side of the authorities it has to be remembered that had any man
been allowed ashore he would certainly never have been seen again, at
any rate, so long as he had any money. In most fleets also, an attempt
at a substitute was made by allowing ship to ship visiting. Such visits
invariably resulted in drunken bouts and subsequent floggings. Nelson
went further--he instituted theatricals on shipboard. It is generally
clear that--very crudely, of course--the authorities were not blind to
the desirability of relieving the tedium of imprisonment on board ship.
The feeding of the men in the days of the Great War is generally
considered to have been villainous. It was one of the causes of the
Mutiny; but there is some reason to believe that it was not invariably
bad. Rodney’s fleet is said to have been excellently provisioned, and
much of what has been written about “thieving pursers” in the past is
now known to be mythical. It was a classical legend that the purser
stole and swindled with bad food. He might do so, and many did. But
all did not, either from honesty or because they did not get the
chance. Under Nelson or Rodney an unscrupulous purser stood to have
a very bad time indeed, and there were others very keenly alive to
the fact that good feeding and efficiency went hand in hand. The bad
food at the time of the mutinies seem to have been a feature of that
particular time, and even so due rather to mismanagement than much
else. For the rest, the real culprits were economists on shore, who had
no connection whatever with the Fleet, and were merely interested in
husbanding the financial resources of the country.
The provisions as made were almost uniformly good, and the stories
of unscrupulous contractors who, in league with the pursers,
foisted inferior food on the Fleet, may mostly be dismissed. Such
cases occurred now and again, but comparatively rarely. “Rogues in
authority” were mainly mythical. There are yarns by the score. There
are corresponding yarns to-day, quite as plentiful, which the careless
historian of the future will no doubt swallow. For example, at the
present day it is an article of faith with every bluejacket that the
first lieutenant pockets odd sixpences out of the canteen, and nothing
ever can or ever will remove the impression.
It is absolutely absurd; but within the last ten years I have had
it chapter and verse all about the peculation of 1s. 4d. by a first
lieutenant whose private income ran well into five figures! It is
a sea-legend so hoary that bluejackets honour it, no matter how
ridiculously improbable. The purser of the days of the Great War was
not perhaps entirely clean handed, but as Commander Robinson has
pointed out,[71] even at the Spithead Mutiny, when the provision
question was very much to the fore, the mutineers did not complain
of the purser, but of the system and regulations. It was people on
shore, not the man afloat, who, when it came to the point, mixed up the
instrument with the handlers thereof.
The Spithead trouble, which was purely naval (the Nore Mutiny was
more or less political) arose entirely, so far as food was concerned,
out of the economists already referred to. Vast stores of provisions
had been accumulated, and many were going bad. Pursers received very
strict orders to use up the old “likely to decay soon” before touching
the new. The result was the issue of decayed pork, stinking cheese,
and mildewed biscuits to an unprecedented degree. A badness that had
hitherto been more or less occasional chanced just about the Mutiny
period to be general.
The men were by no means starved or badly fed, presuming the food to
be good. The usual scale was somewhat as follows:--A daily issue of a
pound of biscuit and a gallon of beer or else pint of wine; and when
these were exhausted, one gill of Navy rum diluted with three of water
twice a day. On Tuesdays and Saturdays an issue of 2lbs. of beef was
made; on Sundays and Thursdays 1lb. of pork. Over the week the issue
of other articles was 2lbs. pease, 1½lbs. oatmeal, 6ozs. of butter, an
equal amount of sugar, and 12ozs. of cheese and half-a-pint of vinegar
nominally per man; but actually every four men took the provisions
of six. Nine pounds of meat a week could hardly be called starvation
fare even to-day, and in those times it was an extraordinarily liberal
diet for men who at home would not have had anything like it.[72]
Except in cases with admirals like Collingwood (who in the matter of
understanding the ratio of health to efficiency was about the most
incompetent admiral the British Navy ever had), it was generally seen
to that, whenever possible, fresh provisions could be purchased from
traders who regularly visited blockading fleets.
Furthermore, rations were normally varied so far as circumstances would
permit, and when possible fresh beef and mutton were substituted for
the salt meat allowance. Nelson went to almost extravagant lengths
in these directions; but the majority of other officers were not far
behind. Whatever hell the Lower Deck of the Fleet entailed, the blame
in hardly any case lay with the officers, executive or otherwise, but
entirely with civilian officials and Members of Parliament with ideas
of their own about economy. All the reliable evidence is to the effect
that the responsible authorities desired their fighting men to live
(relatively speaking) like fighting cocks, that the difference between
the ideal and the real was due to civilian influence, and that even so
it was only really thoroughly bad just before the Great Mutiny. Had it
been a regular thing the Mutinies would probably never have happened,
the men would have been too used to the conditions to find in them a
special cause of complaint.
The whole trouble in messing in the old days arose out of quality, not
quantity. The beef and pork were almost invariably bad, owing to the
system of using up the old provisions first, with a view to economy.
Every ship carried tons of good provisions going bad, while those
already bad and decayed were being consumed. Consequently the men
starved in the midst of relative plenty.
It remains to add that the officers fared little better.[73] On the
whole, taking their general shore food into consideration, it may be
argued that they fared worse. As a rule, they had to eat what the men
ate, a fact too often forgotten by those who believe that the officers
of those days generally peculated on provisions for the men.
Both aft and forward there was one consolation. Liquor was plentiful
enough for anyone who wanted to be half seas over by eventime. So was
the hard life lived, with an occasional battle to break the monotony.
To both officers and men battle seems to have been the “beano” of
to-day. Conditions on board were not rosy enough to make life worth
clinging to, while battle meant a good time afterwards to those who
got through unscathed. There was only one terror--being wounded. The
horrors of the cockpit are beyond exaggeration. The surgeons did their
best. They were poorly paid men[74] and expected to find their own
instruments: only if they could not did they borrow tools from the
carpenter.[75]
[Illustration: A TRAFALGAR ANNIVERSARY.]
They heated their instruments before use so as to lessen the shock of
amputation; they doped their patients with wine or spirit so far as
might be. They took all as they came in turn, whether officer or
man. If anyone seemed too badly wounded to be worth attention they had
him taken above and thrown overboard. If, at a hasty glance, taking off
an arm or a leg, or both, seemed likely to promise a cure, they gave
the wounded man a tot of rum and a bit of leather to chew, and set to
work! The wounded who survived were treated with a humanity which makes
the “more humanity to the wounded” of the Spithead mutineers a little
difficult to understand at first sight. They were fed on delicacies;
and anything out of the ordinary on the wardroom table was always sent
to them. They also got all the officers’ wine.
On the other hand, time in the sick bay was deducted from their
pay,[76] and they were liable to all kinds of infectious diseases
caught from the last patient.
To satisfy the demands of the economists, lint was forbidden and
sponges restricted, so that a single sponge might have to serve for a
dozen wounded men. Blood-poisoning was thus indiscriminately spread,
and a wounded man thus infected with the worst form of it, was mulcted
in his pay for medicines required. When the Spithead mutineers demanded
“more humanity to the wounded” those were the things that probably they
had in mind. It has further to be remembered that a man wounded too
badly to be of any further use afloat was flung ashore without pension
or mercy. The surgeons were fully as humane as their brethren ashore,
possibly much more so, from the mere fact that any community of men
flung together to sink or swim together compels common sympathies. To
the men the purser was classically a thief, the surgeon a callous
brute, the officers generally brutes of another kind. This cheap view
of the situation has been perpetuated _ad lib_. But all the best
evidence is to the effect that, as a rule, and save in exceptional
cases, most of those on board a warship pulled together, and that
all strove to make the best of things. Things to be made the best
of were few, no doubt, and the grumblers and growlers are the folk
who have left most records. Allowing for the different era, similar
growls can be found to-day. To-day the contented man says nothing;
the discontented says a little, and outside sympathisers say a great
deal. The truth probably lies with the actually discontented’s version
somewhat discounted. In the days of the Great War, the same fact
probably obtained. Unquestionably the seaman proper loved the sea and
his duty, despite all hardships and drawbacks. To this fact is to be
attributed the easy victories of the Great Wars, and, relatively to
corresponding shore life, sea life afloat can hardly have been quite so
black as most people delight to paint it.[77]
The pay of the Navy of the period remains to be mentioned. It ran as
follows:--
Captain--6s. to 25s. a day, according to the ship, plus a variety of
allowances.
Midshipmen--£2 to £2 15s. 6d. a month.
Surgeons--11s. to 18s. a day, with half-pay when unemployed.
Assistant-Surgeons--4s. and 5s., with half-pay when unemployed.
Chaplains--about 8s. 6d. a day, with allowances.
Schoolmasters--£2 to £2 8s. a month, with bounties.
Boatswains--£3 to £4 16s. a month.
Boatswain’s Mate--£2 5s. 6d. a month.
Gunner--£1 16s. to £2 2s. a month.
Carpenter--£3 to £5 16s. a month, according to the ship.
Quartermaster--£2 5s. 6d. a month.
Sailmaker--£2 5s. 6d. a month.
Sailmaker’s Assistant--£1 18s. 6d. a month.
Master-at-Arms--£2 0s. 6d. to £2 15s. 6d. a month.
Ship’s Corporals--£2 2s. 6d. a month.
Cook--11s. 8d. a month and pickings.
Able Seaman--11s. a month (33s. a month after 1797).
Ordinary Seaman--9s. a month (25s. 6d. a month after 1797).
Landsman--7s. 6d. a month (23s. a month after 1797).
Ship’s Boy--13s. to 13s. 6d. a month.
As a rule the men received their pay in a lump when the ship paid off.
Hence those extraordinary scenes of dissipation with which the story
books have made us sufficiently familiar. Jews[78] and women soon
fleeced the Tar, who was generally too drunk to know what he was doing,
there being dozens of willing hands ready to see to it that he was well
plied with liquor.
_FLAGS._